


You Made Me Love You

by slaveforlou



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 09:11:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2845676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slaveforlou/pseuds/slaveforlou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey Milkovich doesn't apologize. But Ian Gallagher is the exception to every rule Mickey has ever had.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Made Me Love You

**Author's Note:**

> I have no explanation for this because I don't like angst yet here I am. I wrote this in an hour and was too impatient to find a beta so if there are any mistakes please let me know! 
> 
> Based on this suggestion by my lovely Shaheer: https://twitter.com/shameiessniaii/status/547012982509555712

Mickey Milkovich does not apologize. He doesn't feel sorry for the feelings that get hurt or the people he has to step on to get where he needs to be. It's just the way life is, he figures. You don't survive this neighborhood by giving in to guilt and placating the kind-hearted. There are few instances in his life where Mickey can honestly recall regretting something he did or said. However, one moment stands out from the rest; a scene that plays out in his mind like the lyrics to a song he wished he could forget.

\--

They're laying in Mickey's bed, both exhausted from near-13 hour shifts, sighing as their bodies melt into the warm mattress underneath. Ian turns his head towards Mickey, his body following suit while his eyes rake over the length of him. Mickey feels close to sleep but he forces his eyes to meet Ian's, a silent conversation between them as a sudden light brightens Ian's eyes and the slow, familiar smirk emerges.

Ian's lips find their way to his favorite spot on Mickey's neck, biting just hard enough to redden the hickey that's already there before soothing his tongue over the mark. His hand glides across Mickey's chest and Mickey swears there was a time where he had the will power to resist Ian or at least pretend there was the intention of resistance. 

Mickey sighs comfortably as the hand slides lower before tucking under his shirt and smoothing back up to rub a thumb over one of his nipples. He turns his face toward Ian, tucking his nose into the space where Ian's neck meets his shoulder, still too sleepy to do much more than just touch for a while.

Mickey jolts the moment he smells it. Something he wishes wasn't so common lately. Mickey feels his skin tingle in a painful way. Ian smells like another guy.

He supposes he was too tired to notice it immediately when Ian lay down beside him in bed, but now that Mickey's noticed, it's all he can smell. Ian smells like sex and not in the way Mickey wishes he did. Someone else was holding Ian, touching him the way Mickey did, sliding their hands along the strong muscle that Mickey loved, leaving their scent where Mickey's should be. In another life, Mickey would react with vengeance, keep silent, and take his given permission to fuck around. But he couldn't. He didn't want to fuck around anymore. Mickey would be kidding himself if he pretended for a second that he could fuck someone else. He was all Ian's now; the asshole had marked him both visibly and invisibly and there was no getting out. 

Mickey pulls back sharply, nose burning and throat feeling tighter than he'd feel comfortable admitting. Ian's confused expression does nothing but fuel the building hurt and anger.

"What? What'd I do?"

"Go take a fucking shower." Mickey rolls onto his back, hands shaking minutely where they press to his abdomen in an attempt to keep himself together.

"Mick, what's wro—"

"You smell like him. Go fucking shower, please, just fucking.. please." Mickey squeezes his eyes closed. He won't cry; that's a bitch move and he won't be the weak one in this situation. Ian seems to realize what Mickey means, sitting up slowly and swallowing, staring down at his hands in his lap.

"Mickey, you know where I work. I can't control who touches me." Ian's voice is quiet as he begins to explain himself, an explanation that Mickey has heard close to a hundred times, but this is different. It feels different and Mickey's instincts are screaming at him to retreat and pretend it's nothing more than the 'job side effect' Ian claims it is. 

"You fuck him?" Mickey's voice shakes a little despite how hard he's trying to keep it all together. The silence he's met with is answer enough, but Mickey thinks maybe they've been through enough to deserve an actual response. 

Ian forced his way into Mickey's life, giving him something he knew he couldn't have and making it obtainable but only conditionally. He made Mickey fall in love with him, made him fall in love with the smile and the wit and the person behind the cocky bravado and brilliant smile. Mickey pushed the limits in his mind for fear of losing the stupidly lovable creature and came out for him. Mickey exposed his life to the world and to his dad, the person who deserved it the least, for Ian. So he could prove to Ian that he was worth something.

Mickey gets up swiftly, doesn't know what will happen if he doesn't get out of this room which seems to be getting hotter as the seconds go by. Ian's hand grips his wrist as he tries to round the side of the bed towards the door. The old Mickey would've shoved him off, maybe even flipped him to the ground to show him he wasn't allowed to just touch him that way. Now, though, all Mickey can do is freeze, his feet stationary to the floor while Ian scrambles across the mattress to stand in front of him.

"Please, Mickey, wait. Let me try to explain before you—"

"Fuck!" Mickey shouts at the ceiling, breathing deeply, "I don't want an explanation. I want you to fucking stop." 

"Mick, please, I'm sorry. You have to listen to me."

"I don't have to listen to anything you fucking say. Do you get that? I'm giving you fucking everything here." Ian remains silent, sensing that he isn't finished which Mickey's grateful for.

"I come out to my dad for you, I admit we're a goddamn couple. I'm trying so hard over here to give you what you wanted and you're fucking everything that moves at that seedy shithole club of yours. Jesus, I hate you." 

Mickey's hands shake freely now, mind spiraling deeper into whatever blackness he can feel already taking over. He feels lightheaded and raw and really all he wants right now is to lay back down and sleep until this is all the way they intended. They were supposed to be okay now. Mickey was the barrier keeping them apart but he's giving in now, admitting his fucking feelings like Ian wanted and it's still not enough. A shaky inhale breaks through his consciousness and the sad smile he sees spread across Ian's face makes his stomach turn. 

"I hate me, too." 

The whisper is so delicate and so slow, Mickey thinks for a split-second he may have misheard him. Regret washes over his body so quickly Mickey fears he may actually vomit right there between them. 

Ian won't meet his eyes now. They're unfocused and wet, looking just below and to the right of Mickey's gaze. The smallest corner of Ian's lower lip is drawn into his mouth and it looks as if he could crumble right there in front of Mickey. He seems smaller in that moment, paler and thin.

Neither of them move and Mickey can feel a cold ache soaring trough his veins, as his brain tries desperately to backtrack in whatever way will make Ian never look like this again. Mickey doesn't hate Ian, he could never hate Ian. He doesn't know what drove him to say that. Maybe his dad had leaked into his head at some point, giving him the ability to destroy anything good in his life. Ian was beautiful and strong and now he's broken at the hands of the person who promised to protect him and all Mickey wants to do is piece him back together. 

Mickey's never felt this before, the need to make something right and the deep painful sense that he's fucked up. Mickey Milkovich doesn't apologize. But Ian Gallagher is the exception to every rule Mickey has ever had. Mickey steadies himself, praying his voice doesn't crack or do anything embarrassing to lessen what he's about to do.

"Ian, look at me." Ian visibly jolts at the sound of his name but his gaze remains unmoving. 

"Ian, please. I need you to look at me." Ian's lip twitches from where it's trapped between his teeth and his eyes slowly shift to meet Mickey's. "I didn't mean that and I'm sorry I said it, please believe me. I need you to believe me right now." 

Mickey's almost begging now, speaking so quickly he's afraid Ian may not even be hearing him, but it's all coming out in a rush. His chest feels too tight and his skin doesn't feel like his own and he wishes he could go back 20 minutes to when he didn't hear those words leave Ian's mouth. There is no turning back now, and all Mickey has is the hope that Ian will listen to him for once in his hard-headed life.

"I d-don't... I don't want to be this way, anymore." Mickey opens his mouth to ask what the fuck he's talking about, to tell him again and again that he's sorry and that he was wrong to say those things, but Ian puts a hand up to stop him. Mickey closes his mouth and swallows, watching Ian's hands curve around his middle almost painfully tight. "I don't wanna b-be me anymore." 

Mickey's heart is in his throat and he rushes forward, ripping Ian's arms from himself and squeezing his own around his shoulders. Ian's shivering and Mickey's never been so scared in his life. He doesn't even recognize this Ian, mentally kicking himself for not noticing whatever is going on with him. Mickey feels the weight in his arms grow as Ian's legs give out beneath him and they both end up on the floor, the bed post painful against Mickey's back. 

"I'm so sorry," Ian starts, but Mickey shushes him, one hand tight against the back of his neck and the other squeezing at his hip. 

"Stop apologizing, fuck, Ian." Mickey prays Ian can hear him from where his mouth is muffled by the skin of Ian's neck. Ian's quiet for a while and Mickey's attention is drawn to the wetness of his shirt where Ian's face is hidden. 

"Just, shit, tell me what's going on. I'm freaking out over here, man. Did someone..?" A wave of sickness and rage rushes through Mickey and he can't bring himself to finish his question, can't imagine what he'd do if some creep hurt Ian that way. He feels the warm air of a sigh against his shoulder as Ian wraps his arms tightly around Mickey's neck. 

"Nothing... happened. I'm—It's me," Ian sounds like each word is a struggle, his voice gravelly and pained, "I'm the problem. I'm so up all the time and I c-can't feel the ground sometimes. But they—they're touches don't mean anything. It all feels so high like I'm flying and I don't say no. I can't stop." 

Ian hiccups a few times trying to get his words out and Mickey has never been more confused and desperate to understand in his life. Ian's muttering 'sorry's over and over into the wet space of his neck, while Mickey's hand rubs rough circles along his side.

"I love you." It's the first thing Mickey can think to say in all honesty. It's the first time he's said the full phrase that way. Hell, it's the first time he's said anything unprompted, but it's the only truth he knows right now. 

Ian freezes and pulls back, eyebrows knitted together as he wipes the shiny tracks from his cheeks with his palms. 

"How can you—fuck, I'm awful to you."

"Ian, you're the only good thing I ever had. Fuck, what I said back there, it's not true. I don't understand this at all but I'll try if you let me. I can't watch you destroy yourself."

Ian looks one blow away from a fresh set of tears but his eyes don't leave Mickey's, not this time. Mickey has no clue what's going on in Ian's head, why he only feels grounded when he's touching or being touched, or why he'd have any reason to hate himself. Ian's always so strong and confident, but the boy crumpled in Mickey's arms is none of those things. He's broken and hurt, and Mickey doesn't know if he should wish for his boy back or be glad he drew this out before he lost him forever.

"I don't want to be Monica. I feel like a stranger in my own head and I-I can't lose you."

"Shit, Ian. No, okay, you're not Monica and I'm not going anywhere. I'm here for good." 

Mickey's heard the stories. He knows about Monica's bipolar disorder, how she'd fuck with her kids' sense of security, that she'd tried to off herself on Thanksgiving when Ian was 17. He knows all of this but he never thought about what he'd do if Ian was the unlucky Gallagher to get the gene.

Suddenly all the pieces fall into place. The erratic demeanor, how cheery and energetic Ian had been since he came back to the southside. Mickey feels worse than stupid as his mind runs through the events. Ian isn't trying to hurt him, he's trying to cope with what he's going through, all of which Mickey was oblivious to. 

"I can't say I'm not really fucking confused but I'm trying here, okay? And I'm not leaving you until you... until you don't hate yourself anymore." The words felt thick and foreign on Mickey's tongue. He still can't get Ian's expression out of his mind, that surrendered and sad look of someone who's been keeping everything to himself for far too long.

Mickey presses his lips firmly to Ian's cheek, then his forehead, leaving small promises all over any visible skin before leaving one last kiss against his lips. He wants to throw up and scream and break everything in the goddamn house but this isn't a problem he can solve with threats and his fists. There's no physical being hurting Ian that Mickey can take out with one call to his brothers. This is invisible and fucking terrifying and all Mickey can do is try to help Ian see how amazing he is. Try to bring back the genuine smile that he can't remember losing. Try to help Ian love himself the way Mickey loves him.


End file.
